Miri’s daughter is dead and her husband has been unfaithful to her. Lost in her grief, she flees to her Cuban grandmother’s old house in a town where outsiders and any hint of eccentricity are viewed with suspicion. Miri is not the only one running away, however. Zett Moran, their baby daughter in tow, is running from her husband, while Aziz, an illegal Afghan immigrant, is on the run from the authorities; when their paths cross, Miri grants them refuge, but the three adults move uneasily around each other in the hot, confined spaces of the house.

They have reasons to be wary, but it’s impossible to live under one roof and remain completely isolated, and Miri soon finds herself caught up in events and relationships beyond her control: she’s searching for some kind of equilibrium, but every action has a consequence, and the townspeople’s reactions to Miri’s charity are not necessarily all positive, predictable – or balanced.

Written in spare, taut prose, Nights in the Asylum is Miri’s story; it is also a story of home, of belonging, of leaving one home and trying to make another, where-ever and how-ever you can.